


Mythical Morning

by postinghumorouslyposthumously



Category: Marvel, Thor (Movies)
Genre: "unrequited" love, Insecure Loki, Insecure Thor, Insecurity, Loki basically just doesn't want to be rejected, Love Confessions, Oneshot, Post-Coital Cuddling, Reminiscing, Self-Worth Issues, Sex, Vulnerability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-12-30 05:10:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18308843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/postinghumorouslyposthumously/pseuds/postinghumorouslyposthumously
Summary: "That’s me. God of Mischief, Lies, and Thor Odinson’s nights. I had them all. Every single one. Cataloged and contained like precious minerals."-"It has been a long time since we last rendezvoused in one of our bedrooms late at night. Lifetimes ago. Five minutes ago. What’s the difference, really? It all comes back to this moment."-Sometime before Infinity War, and after everything else, Loki reminisces on nights in the morning.





	Mythical Morning

**Author's Note:**

> It's ya Boi, back at it again, probably posting this prematurely.  
> Might come back and edit or change a bit later. But might not. 
> 
> Just to clarify: This is unrelated to my series Chillin' on a Building.  
> This is Thor and Loki in a different universe. Just to make things less confusing.

I was almost asleep. That’s how I knew it was time to go.

I inhaled deeply, filling my lungs, preparing myself to sit up. You shifted next to me, as though you could tell what I was preparing for. Slowly, I rose up into a sitting position, running a hand over my hair and pushing it out of my face.

I didn’t want to look back at you. Looking back at you would bode well for no one. It would just open up a whole festering wound of feelings somewhere deep inside me that I didn’t want to look either. But you made a noise, and shifted again, and touched me, and I looked back like every fool who’s ever run from something for their life.

Your eyes were still closed. You inhaled deeply now, like I did before, preparing yourself to open your eyes and face me, probably. When you did, it was so much worse.

“ _Loki..._ ” You drew out, more breath than anything else.

You were asking me not to go.

I rubbed the back and side of my neck. You slowly let go of me and pulled your hand back, as if in desolate acceptance. You didn’t want me to, but you were letting me go, if I wanted.

Why’d you have to ask me that?

I turned away from your face. Like looking into the sun, that. Much too bright in this already much too fucking bright place we lived. Except for right now. Right now when it was dark and quiet and the only time when you could bear for me to be in here right now, with you, like this.

Asking me to stay. But what would you say tomorrow?

I curled my hands into each other and tucked them up under my chin against my throat. I tucked my legs up, too. Drawing my knees up to my chest and bowing my head down towards them. You stayed laying on your back beside me. I could hear you breathing. Feel you staring at me. I wanted you to stop. Stop looking. Stop asking.

I closed my eyes.

 

_I hated it when you put me on my back, and you knew it. It was the precise reason why I was there now. You leaning over me, smug, laughing expression on your face. Weren’t looking so smug earlier when I had your cock in my mou–_

_You thrust in without any preamble, momentarily throwing my thoughts across the room. I gasped sharply. You set a brutal pace. That kind of night, oh?_

_Once I had regained some semblance of togetherness, I smirked. Tightening my arms around you, I leaned up, breathing noises in your ear I knew made you shudder, and then biting down._

_It urged you on faster. Harder. I groaned, head falling back onto the pillow. You started mouthing at my jaw, kissing my neck. You never were a biter._

_I laughed slightly at the thought, somehow amusing to me in the moment._

 

Your hands gently came up, settled on my back, ran up the jut of my shoulder blades and onto my shoulders, squeezing lightly.

“Loki,” you said again. Which you had to stop doing. Had to stop saying my name like it was a whole sentence that needed no further words.

Now you weren’t just asking me to stay. No, now you were committing an even deeper, blacker sin.

 _Are you okay?_ You asked.

I curled further into myself for a second, a flinch reaction to the impact. Then, I lifted my head and dropped my arms so that they were looped loosely around my updrawn legs.

“Yeah,” I said.

Worse, still, I felt you draw closer. You pressed a kiss to my shoulder.

“Stay,” You whispered against my skin.

 

_“Come,” you whispered against my panting mouth. I obeyed your request, and then you kissed me whilst hitting that spot inside me that made my vision go white. You thrust hard a few more times, staccato to me now, and then moaned with your own release._

_My eyes were still closed. You were heavy on top of me when you collapsed, head buried in the junction of my neck and shoulder._

 

I wondered if you were remembering the same moment from just an hour or so ago in your head. If you were remembering all of the moments. Not just from that night, but every night. Every night. I almost snorted derisively.

That’s me. God of Mischief, Lies, and Thor Odinson’s nights. I had them all. Every single one. Cataloged and contained like precious minerals.

“I can’t,” I said, keeping my voice low.

You made another noise.

“Why?”

I closed my eyes again, and let myself lean back into you for a moment. I had a whole list of reasons in my head in an endless loop, playing over and over like the worst kind of lullaby.

“We don’t have to act like this never happened tomorrow,” you said softly against my neck, arms wrapped up around my torso, holding me against you like wrapping me up in a blanket. I stared off at some point in the dark distance.

I found one of your hands and laced my fingers with yours. You kissed my neck again.

“You won’t think like that tomorrow,” I said.

I felt the furrow of your brow.

“Why do you say that?” You asked.

Your eyes slipping past me and lingering on women, your voice taking over mine when you don’t want to listen to what I’m saying, your laugh brushing it all off, your friends looking at me, _the kid brother_ , father’s eyes flitting past me in disappointment, lingering on you, mother staying behind and putting her hand on my shoulder, looking at me with loving sympathy, your overbearing exuberance, getting distracted at every turn, running past, trampling over, leaving behind.

You said we didn’t have to pretend, now, when all was dark and quiet and I was the whole and only known universe.

Tomorrow, the sun would light up the rest of it. And each new and potentially dangerous shiny thing would catch and keep your eye until the next came along. Until the sun went down again.

I kissed your arm.

 _Because I’m not prepared to be rejected in this way,_  I did not answer your question.

I arched out of your hold, and you hesitated in letting me go. I tensed slightly at the prospect, and your arms loosened and fell away.

I crawled away from you, and out of bed. Did not pause to stretch as I gathered my robe up from its heap on the floor.

I could feel your anger, the way I always felt it. Hot, bright electricity crackling across the expanse of the room. The expanse of everything. Because your anger really did encompass everything, didn’t it?

But you said nothing. You never said anything when I left, did you? So unlike you. Which was why these nights worked. I found the one thing you were insecure about. And I exploited it.

I was in the critical moments now. If I paused, or looked back, it could ruin everything. Little did you know, if you spoke, or reached out, that could ruin everything, too. It was a delicate balance. Not push and shove, more pull and drag.

I walked purposefully, and barefoot, out of your room. You didn’t stop me. The door shut behind me. I was alone in the dark, capacious hallway.

Some people were scared of the dark. I was scared of the light, and what it meant for your clarity of vision. For all my tricks and illusions, I was terrified that if day broke over them, you’d see them for what they really were. Me for what I really was.

I walked back to my room, holding the fabric of the robe tight around me. I felt the ache of our activities with every step, and it made me pine for the night behind me even more.

I shuddered as I entered my room, closing the door behind me. I went to my bed, dropping my robe on the floor, sinking under the blankets and longing for warmth that was no longer with me.

 

…

 

I sit on the edge of the bed. You are laying on your back behind me. Not looking at me. I’m not looking at you, either. I’m starting at my feet brushing the ground. I curl my toes to feel them pop.

It has been a long time since we last rendezvoused in one of our bedrooms late at night. Lifetimes ago. Five minutes ago. What’s the difference, really? It all comes back to this moment.

“Loki…” You say, and I cannot decipher what you mean when you say my name.

I turn my head, look out towards the window. The sky was beginning to lighten. The sun would be rising soon. Within moments, I’d say.

“Go,” you say, hands covering your face, muffling your voice. Ashamed. Guilty. Remorseful.

I feel nothing.

I go.

As I do, I pause and look back behind me. You’ve lifted your hands. Are looking at me. Our eyes meet. And I wonder if it’s enough to ruin everything.

The only thing running through my brain is _It Could Have Been Different_ . Which is a thought I have never been able to think before. Never been able to _see_ , before. But now, there it is. As potent as the blows you and I’ve dealt each other throughout our entire lives. Bitter regret.

I blink, and turn my head. Can’t move for a few seconds. Sway on the spot. The ache is deeper, like it had been in the very beginning. Lack of practice, I suppose. I leave your room, shutting your door.

 

A line of sun is gashing through the slit between the drapes in my room by the time I get back to it. I ignore it, and fall onto the bed. Time passes, and I don’t move. Just lie with my face pressed against the pillow, facing away from the window.

Today is an uncertainty. A random roll of the dice of which person who hates me will try to kill or imprison me today.

I try to sleep. Try not to think of brutish, arrogant gods. Try to keep from fidgeting in my bed. What a pathetic creature I have turned out to be. Longing for false attention that is only regretted in the morning.

Then, I hear the door open.

I tense, expecting monsters. Phantoms. The kind that slit your throat and take your soul.

And then a different kind of visitor appears at the side of my bed. I look up, and see you, outlined in the dark. Hair a bedraggled mess. Bags underneath your eyes. I shift to look at you better, tilt my head up, bar my neck, and then my teeth.

I was not expecting you here.

You look like you were not expecting you here either.

Slowly, you kneel onto the bed, lifting a hand and moving it towards me. You wrap it loosely around my throat, and lean down. I let you kiss me. Don’t move. Don’t respond. Too afraid to break the spell. What kind of magic is this? Something I conjured out of my pathetic want?

But no. Your lips against mine are far too real. Nothing I could do.

You kiss me harder, your hand tightening slightly around my throat, and I start to respond.

I sink my teeth into your bottom lip, and I feel you smile.

Just like old times.

You move completely onto the bed, now, and over me. Remembering how much I hate being on my back, I take it. Though I don’t mind it so much anymore.

Your free hand, the one not wrapped around my throat, finds my wrist and pins it against the bed. My other hand winds up in your hair. I pull viciously. Your hand leaves my neck and returns the favor. I moan.

The bite marks on your shoulder and neck are still fresh from just a few hours ago. I lean up to add to them. You yank my head back down, and beat me to it. Nuzzling into my neck and grossly mouthing along the column of my throat.

You move down my chest, pushing the robe open. My cock swells with interest again as you put your mouth over one of my nipples.

I tangle my hands in your hair again. Your hands brush my sides.

“What are you doing here?” I breathe, though I probably shouldn’t break the moment.

You stop, and lean up. Holding yourself up on your elbows, bracketing the sides of my body. I look down at you.

“I don’t want to pretend anymore,” you say.

I stare at you, breath hitched in my throat. My head spins with implications and warning bells.

“Loki…” You say, leaning down to bite my nipple lightly. I scratch my nails over your scalp. You let go and look up at me again, sincerity heavy in your eyes. “I love you.”

I exhale quickly.

You move up again, tilting onto your side and propping yourself up with an elbow on the bed. Your other hand caresses my opposite shoulder, and you won’t look away from my eyes.

“Let’s stop pretending,” you say softly, and I stare up at you, unable to say anything, gaping, probably confusedly.

You lean down again, and this time I meet you in the middle, mouths meeting hungrily.

“Okay,” I breathe when we stop.

You smile. Bright like the sun streaming through the curtains, and this time, I don’t look away.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: insidious-now


End file.
